What Madeline Wants

by Linda Style

  Damn, he was a hard guy to figure. Swinging around to straighten her papers, she heard voices at the door across the room.

  Juana came inside with Carlos close behind.

  “Good evening,” Maddy said cheerily, then went to the board and wrote in English, Welcome. Today is Wednesday, September 15.

  CHAPTER SIX

  THE LAST THING J.D. had planned to do was give the petunia the keys to his vehicle, and it grated that he’d had to do it.

  But like it or not, he couldn’t be in two places at once. It was more important to make sure the delivery from Tucson was complete, and he was the only one who could do that. Besides, surely she couldn’t screw up too much, driving a few miles to pick up what he needed in town.

  He hoped.

  He kicked off the sheet and glowered at the red digital numbers on his clock: 1:00 a.m.—and he was still thinking about the woman in the other room.

  After watching her last encounter with the dog, his earlier assessment had been verified. Her screams the other day had been filled with pure terror. But then she’d gone on to act as if her reaction was nothing. She’d even agreed to feed Zelda.

  Her determination was admirable, and he’d been surprised by it. What surprised him even more was that he thought about her at all. Since the accident, he hadn’t given any woman more than a passing glance.

  So why couldn’t he get Madeline Inglewood out of his head? Hell, he wasn’t even attracted to her.

  Short, mousy-blond hair, an average face, average shape, everything about her was average…except…maybe her eyes. Yeah. There was something about her eyes. Not their color—he wasn’t even sure what color they were—but their size. Big lost-soul eyes.

  Now that he thought about it, her mouth was one of her better features, too. Full lips. Sexy lips.

  He scoffed, shook the image of her from his head, rolled over and punched the pillow. You’re losing it, buddy boy.

  A dull thud sounded outside. He sat upright, an instant flashback to the ambush the other night racing through his head. He grabbed a pair of cutoff sweats from the bottom of the bed, pulled them on and slipped quietly across the room to his grandfather’s gun cabinet.

  He said a quick thank-you to his crazy aunt Ethel for not getting rid of his grandparents’ possessions, and then pulled out the 12-gauge, checking to make sure the safety was on. He took a couple shells from the drawer below, loaded the gun and stole toward the bedroom door.

  He crept down the long hallway to the back door. The outside light, which he always left on, glowed through the window. Not bright enough to let him see more than a few feet around the steps. If someone was lurking out there, he had good cover.

  At the door, J.D. stood to the side and peered through the window. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. He grabbed a flashlight from the shelf, stuck it under his arm and quietly slipped outside. He waited a moment while his vision adjusted. Then he noticed a light on in the bunkhouse.

  The teacher had probably forgotten to turn off the Coleman after her class and more than likely it had attracted some animal. Grumbling, he went down the steps. If an animal tipped over the lamp, the place could go up in flames.

  He opened the bunkhouse door with caution. The Coleman was centered on the long table that he’d brought from the house earlier. He smiled, remembering how the teacher’s eyes had lit up when she’d seen it. He scanned the room quickly, then walked over to the table.

  He set down his gun and flashlight and lowered himself into a chair, leaned back and stretched out his legs. His gaze traveled to the board where the teacher had printed some words in Spanish and then in English. Below was a sentence, written in both languages, using the words she’d written above.

  Cleaned up, the place felt warm and inviting, almost the way it had been when he was a kid and the ranch had bustled with life.

  Once, when he was seven, he’d helped his grandfather round up stock, and as a treat the old man let J.D. sleep in the bunkhouse with the guys who worked for him. For the first time since his parents had died, he’d felt a part of something important. A sense of belonging.

  But all his good feelings were severed when his grandparents passed on and his aunt sent him away. He’d known then what it was like to be truly alone in the world. It wasn’t until he joined the navy that he finally felt as if he belonged somewhere. He had a family again.

  He rubbed his eyes. Ancient history. His life would never be the same. He had no family—and no future. But it was no more than he deserved. He should have died in the crash…not Eric.

  Something clattered behind him, and he jerked around. He grabbed his gun in one hand and the flashlight in the other, shining it into the pile of furniture and junk in the small room off to his right.

  Shining the light around, a white piece of fabric caught his eye.

  He got up, picked up the Coleman and walked toward the storage closet. Getting closer, he saw a small hand and then…big black, scared-to-death eyes staring back at him.

  “Benito? What the blazes are you doing in there.”

  NARROW SLITS of sunlight filtered through the blinds, waking Maddy. She stretched out on the bed, feeling warm and comfortable and satisfied with the way her class had gone last night.

  The evening had been extremely productive and she’d felt exhilarated. It’d been difficult getting to sleep after that. In fact, everything was going so well, it was hard to keep her perspective.

  She was only going to be here for a short time and then she’d be off to New York. But, while that was exciting, she found she wasn’t thinking about the prospect nearly as much as before. Her life on the ranch took up all her thoughts.

  Despite Rivera’s scowling face and occasional outburst, she’d managed to face one of her greatest fears without running away as she’d done in the past. Her success made her spirits soar.

  This morning, she hoped, would bring more of the same. The fact that Rivera had enough confidence in her to let her use his truck filled her with even more good feelings.

  She stretched out again and feeling her muscles resist, decided to forgo her morning jog. It was early, and there was plenty of time to feed the dog and have breakfast before she left for town.

  A loud banging roused her from the bed. She went to the window and peered out, but couldn’t see anything. After a quick shower, she dressed and went outside to the dog compound, reminding herself that she had to brush Zelda and give her vitamins at some point today.

  Zelda was huddled near the door of her house with her head on her front paws. That’s odd, Maddy thought. Every time she’d seen Zelda, the dog had been bouncing all over the place. But it was early, maybe Zelda liked to sleep in.

  Maddy took a few steps closer and as usual her palms became clammy and her heart rate soared. All her rationalizations couldn’t stop her body from reacting to the fear deep inside her.

  Still, she kept on walking. As she got closer, the dog’s tail raised, and then made one listless thump.

  Maddy checked the water level in both the bowl and the cooler, filled the other bowl with food and went to kneel in front of Zelda. “What’s the matter, pup?”

  Maddy slowly inched out a shaky hand, willing herself to stay calm as she touched the dog and then rubbed behind her ear. Zelda, still lying on her belly, pawed closer, her big soulful eyes looking up at Maddy, almost as if she knew how hard it was for Maddy. As if she understood the effort Maddy was making. Her heart melted. So far she’d only done what was necessary for the dog—maybe Zelda just needed a little more attention.

  She took a big gulp of air and rubbed behind Zelda’s ear one more time before she drew her hand back and stood up on legs that felt like spaghetti.

  That was good, Madeline. Good enough for now. She closed the gate behind her and headed toward the house. Her heart was still racing when she saw Juana walking toward her.

  “Hola,” she said as casually as she could manage. “Cómo está usted?”

  “I’m fine,” J
uana replied with a smile and handed Maddy a brown paper sack. “Something for you.”

  “Really?” Maddy peeked inside the bag and saw a piece of purple fabric.

  “It’s a skirt like mine,” Juana said. “Only smaller to fit you.”

  “Oh, I love your skirts, Juana. How nice of you to pick one up for me.” She pulled out the pale lavender skirt and held it against herself. The fabric was gauzy and crinkled just like the garments Juana wore. Inside the bag was a matching tank top and a fringed shawl in varying shades of purple. “The skirt looks like the perfect size. How much was it? I’ll pay you before I go into town.”

  Juana scowled and shook her head. “It’s a gift. My sister made it for you. She likes to sew. It’s a way for her to make extra money. She’s a widow and has five children to feed.”

  “Then I insist on paying her.”

  Juana shook her head. “I do many things for her. So she made it for me to give to you. It didn’t cost anything.”

  From what Juana had said previously, Maddy knew the woman’s resources were limited and that she sent most of her money to relatives in Mexico. Maddy couldn’t possibly take the skirt as a gift if Juana had spent her hard-earned wages on it. But she’d said she hadn’t, and if Maddy insisted on paying, she might offend her.

  She reached out and gave Juana a hug. “Well, then, I thank you. What an absolutely sweet thing for you to do.”

  At that, Juana left and Maddy took the outfit to her room, delighted at the woman’s generous and thoughtful gesture. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had surprised her with a gift for no reason at all.

  A few minutes later, she headed back toward the kitchen. As she got closer, she heard Rivera and Juana talking, but apparently Rivera didn’t understand because Juana kept repeating herself.

  “Can I interpret?” Maddy asked as she came into the room.

  J.D. was sitting at the table, wearing a pair of faded jeans and a white T-shirt, looking sexier than any man she’d ever known. Juana was at the old stove, and next to her on the counter were some eggs, chiles, onions and cheese.

  “Mr. Rivera doesn’t understand a word I’m saying,” Juana lamented as she poured Maddy a cup of coffee and handed it to her.

  Maddy laughed. “Well, soon that won’t be a problem, will it?”

  Maddy sat next to J.D., who kept his gaze focused out the window. Following his line of vision, she saw Carlos standing by one of the outbuildings pulling nails and stripping off some rotted boards. “What’s he doing?”

  J.D. made a dismissing gesture. “Working.”

  “Mr. Rivera is teaching Carlos to work with wood,” Juana added, apparently understanding more English than she’d let on.

  “Really,” Maddy said and smiled at J.D. “Is that true?”

  “Is what true?”

  “That you’re teaching Carlos to do carpentry.”

  “I need a good worker, he needs more money.” He shrugged and took a swig of his coffee.

  And he’d never admit to doing something nice. She’d been wrong about him, and was pleasantly surprised.

  “Is that what you did before you came here?”

  He shook his head. “Summer jobs during high school. Are you ready to go into town? I’ve got a list of things I need.”

  “Sure. I’m ready anytime. Just point me to the truck, tell me what you need, and I’ll be on the road.” Elbows on the table, she leaned toward him, smiled and added, “After breakfast.”

  He gave her a funny look, as if he couldn’t figure her out. But he wasn’t nearly as snarly as when she’d first arrived.

  A half hour later she was sitting in the driver’s seat of an old green truck, so full of rust it looked as if it might disintegrate on the first big bump in the road. She listened as Rivera gave instructions on the vehicle’s idiosyncracies. Holding the driver’s door open, he leaned inside, his head next to hers. His hair, still wet from his shower, was combed straight back, but one little loop hung over his forehead.

  “Gun the engine when you start it, but not enough to flood it, put the emergency brake on when you stop, and—”

  He was still talking, but his instructions blended into a mishmash of words and sentences that she wouldn’t remember anyway. All she could think of was how delicious he smelled, clean and fresh like soap and shampoo, and he was so close that if she turned, her mouth would be right next to his.

  He leaned across her and shoved the key into the ignition. “Remember those few things and you should be fine.” He stepped back.

  She took a breath, twisted the key, and when the engine started right off, she felt an immense surge of relief. Last night she’d gone over everything she could remember from her brother’s lessons. The H formation, bottom left was first, up, across and up again was second, and straight down was third. Piece of cake.

  “Okay?”

  When she nodded, he closed the door and stood back. She grabbed the shift and shoved it into what she hoped was first gear, then put pressure on the accelerator. The truck lurched forward, stopped, then lurched forward again. After a few embarrassing minutes bouncing down the road, she jerked toward the highway and out of Rivera’s sight.

  Nearing the outskirts of town, she cruised by a gas station where a man came out, waving his arms at her as if he wanted her to stop. But she didn’t. She couldn’t.

  First of all, she wasn’t sure she’d get the truck started again if she stopped now. And second, the attack on Rivera the other night was reason enough for her to be cautious. She just hoped there wasn’t some kind of emergency.

  Driving on, she passed some verdant farmland, and a big sign on the fields that said, La Mancha Ranches. She’d thought Arizona nothing but desert, but she’d been dead wrong. She’d seen miles of citrus groves while flying over Phoenix, and dairy farms and now irrigated fields.

  Some parts, like the area between Tucson and Los Rios, the part that stretched into Mexico, was bleak, and she wondered if it had always been that way.

  A few miles later, she was driving into Los Rios, and, according to the sign, the town was even smaller than Epiphany.

  She spied Masterson’s General Store, where Rivera wanted her to go, and maneuvered the truck into one of the diagonal parking spaces, right next to a police car.

  A few stores away, four men outside a barbershop stopped their conversation to watch her climb from the truck. They probably recognized the vehicle as Rivera’s.

  She wondered how well they knew him and if he was as crabby with them as he was with her. She grabbed her tote bag and the list and walked into the store.

  The place was a relic of the past. A big room with long tables in the center full of clothing and tools and gadgets of all kinds. On the side where she’d entered were several bins full of penny candy and a checkout counter with no one behind it. Some kind of flour or feed sacks lined another wall. Two large paddle fans hung from the ceiling, both with strips of flypaper dangling from their chains.

  It was so quiet, all she heard was the whir of the fans stirring the air. “Hello,” she called. “Anyone here?”

  “Can I help you?” A man’s deep voice came from the back of the room. A ruddy-faced, red-haired man who appeared to be in his mid-sixties swaggered toward her down the center aisle. Like her father, he oozed authority. Except for the bib tucked into his shirt at the neck. Early lunchtime, she guessed.

  “Yes. Do you work here?”

  “You could say that.” His eyes shifted from her face to the big picture window in front where she’d parked Rivera’s truck.

  “Good. I need several items, and perhaps you can point me in the right direction.”

  He laughed.

  Taken aback, she said, “I’m sorry. Did I say something wrong?”

  “I’m the sheriff. Tom Collier’s my name.” He pulled off the bib, revealing a badge underneath. “My office is in back, but workin’ at the store, that’s Clyde’s job.” He nodded toward the entry just as she heard a bell jingle.
>
  She swung around. A tall lanky man came in, one of the guys who’d been standing in front of the barbershop. Apparently business wasn’t exactly hopping in Los Rios.

  “And who might you be, young lady?” the sheriff asked.

  “Madeline Inglewood.” She offered her hand. “I work at the Tripplehorne Ranch.”

  The other man ambled inside and went around the counter. “Can I help you, ma’am?”

  “Young lady here is stayin’ at the Tripplehorne,” the sheriff said. “She probably came for those supplies, Clyde.”

  “Not likely. Rivera canceled on me. How’s that for gratitude?”

  Maddy glanced from one to the other. “Actually, I’m interested in some clothing.”

  “You don’t say.”

  The sheriff’s patronizing tone irked her, but she decided to ignore it. “I didn’t anticipate the climate very well and brought the wrong kind of clothes.”

  Collier gave her another once-over. “Uh-huh. The wrong kind you say. What exactly are you doing out there?”

  She didn’t like the innuendo. “I’m doing exactly what I came to do.” She turned to Clyde. “Do you have any clothing in a size four?”

  Clyde laughed, snorting several times in the process. “We’re a general store, ma’am. Not one of those fancy bo-tiques. We don’t have much in the way of clothes and what we do have comes in small, medium and large.” He gave the sheriff a covert look and chuckled. “Oh, we also have extra large and jumbo size.”

  “You’re not going to find what you want in Los Rios,” the sheriff said.

  She squared her shoulders, an uneasy feeling settling in her bones. She forced a smile. “You may be right, but I’d like to see for myself.”

  “Sure. Help yourself.” Clyde opened his arms in an expansive gesture. “What we have is right on that table, except the overalls are hanging near Sheriff Collier’s door in the back.”

  She walked to the table he’d indicated and began sifting through the piles. T-shirts, underwear, hats and a few blouses were all lumped together. Most of the T-shirts had some cutesy saying on the front and the rest were so ugly it was hard to believe anyone had actually purchased them to sell. Happily, on one table she found a pair of black rubber flip-flops and slipped one on her foot. It fit perfectly.